Page 46 of Twin Babies for the Silver Fox (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies #3)

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Knox

The cameras are already rolling when I step outside.

The wind is sharp, biting at my jaw like it’s trying to wake me the hell up. Maybe I deserve that. Maybe I need it.

Flashes go off immediately, rapid fire, blinding. Reporters crowd the barricade just beyond the sidewalk in front of The Marrow, their voices already overlapping.

"Mr. Knightly! Is it true you paid off Savannah Monroe?"

"Did you abandon your girlfriend?"

"Is Josie Dawson really pregnant with your child?"

The words hit like bullets.

I deserved this.

But I’m not here to dodge.

Jace steps up beside me, sunglasses on, jaw like stone. He’s not saying a damn thing, but he’s here, and that means more than I can say. We both know I’ve burned every bridge I ever built. But today, I’m laying down the match.

“Thank you for coming,” I say, stepping up to the mic. My voice is steady. Clear.

“I’m not here to play damage control. I’m not here to spin anything. I’m here because the woman I love deserves better than silence.”

That gets their attention.

The shouting dies down. Just a bit.

“I’ve made mistakes,” I continue, locking my gaze on the sea of cameras. “Plenty of them. But the story that’s circulating now? The one built on rumors and manipulation? It’s not the truth. And it’s time I set the record straight.”

Another wave of flashes.

“Savannah Monroe lied,” I say flatly. “She used her proximity to me to create a scandal that doesn’t exist. We were in a relationship years ago, when she lied about certain things.

.. about having my child. But we’re not together now.

There was no ongoing affair. The messages she leaked were carefully edited or completely fabricated. And I have the evidence to prove it.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. The reporters eat it up, but they’re not who I care about.

I pause, scan the people behind the barricade. Locals. Strangers. Employees. A few familiar faces.

And then I see her.

Mayor Willa standing toward the back of the crowd, arms folded, lips pressed into a line. Our eyes meet.

She doesn’t smile.

But she gives me a small, slow nod of support.

That one gesture almost cracks me in half.

I grip the edge of the podium to keep my hands from shaking.

“The only story that matters now is the truth,” I say, quieter.

“And the truth is I fell in love with someone unexpected. Someone who challenged me. Someone who saw through all the walls I built and called me out when I tried to hide behind them.”

A beat of silence.

“Her name is Josie Dawson.”

I hear the gasp ripple through the crowd. I don’t flinch.

“She’s not just some woman I dated. She’s the woman who changed my life. She’s the one who reminded me who I am, outside of fame, outside of football, outside of failure.”

I swallow. Hard. “And she’s carrying my children.”

The press explodes again, questions shouted, lenses zoomed, but I lift my hand and they quiet.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” I say, my voice low and steady. “I don’t expect applause. I’m not here to sell a comeback. I’m here to take responsibility. And to say, as clearly as I can, that I love Josie. And I will spend the rest of my life making that truth louder than any lie.”

The wind kicks up again, sharp and cold. I let it hit me. Let it strip away what’s left.

I step back from the mic.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m finally standing in my own skin.

Not the ex-NFL star. Not the scandal. Not the ghost of a man hiding in his kitchen.

Just me.

Knox Knightly.

Man in love.

Father to be.

Willing to fight for what matters, no matter how late it is.

By the time the press clears out and Jace claps me on the back with a silent “Well done,” my phone is already ringing.

Gracie.

I pick up on the first ring. “Please tell me she saw it.”

“She did,” Gracie says, but her voice is tight. Cautious.

“What did she say?”

There’s a pause. Too long.

“She’s leaving, Knox.”

The ground shifts beneath me.

“She’s what?”

“She’s packed. She planned it last night, before the press conference, and now...” Gracie sighs like she’s been carrying this weight alone. “She's going to go to Denver.”

No. No. Not after everything.

“I need to see her,” I say, the words spilling out like a prayer. “Just once. One time before she goes.”

Gracie is quiet again, then, “I don’t know…”

“Get her to my house,” I say. “Please. Tell her I need five minutes. One last time.”

A beat. “You better not waste it, Knightly.”

Click .

I hang up and move fast.

The sun’s dipping low by the time I finish double-checking that everything is in place. Just in case Gracie pulls through.

The doorbell rings.

My chest goes tight. I open the door.

Please, please, please.

And there she is.

Josie Dawson. My light, my chaos, my damn heartbeat.

Eyes rimmed red. Shoulders tense. But she’s here.

She steps inside like she’s not sure she should.

“You said one last time,” she says quietly. “So, here I am.”

I nod. Step aside. “Come with me.”

I lead her down the hall, stop outside the room, and push open the door.

She freezes.

The nursery.

For our twins.

It’s soft. Gentle. Painted in warm whites and sunbaked peaches, the whole room bathed in early evening light. Two pale cribs with cloud-soft blankets. A rocking chair beside the window. Shelves already half filled with picture books and lullabies.

Josie walks in like she’s afraid to breathe.

I step beside her.

“I’ve been building something,” I say. “Not just a room. Not just a house.”

I look at her. Really look at her.

“A life. With you. For you. For them.”

Tears blur her eyes. She shakes her head once, whispering, “Knox.”

“I know I messed up. I know I made you doubt everything. But I didn’t run because I didn’t want you, Josie. I ran because I didn’t believe I deserved you. Because I was trying to keep Savannah from getting to you. Because I was scared.”

I swallow hard. My voice cracks. “But when I imagined holding them in my arms, imagined you beside me. I realized I want that fear. I want the sleepless nights. The sticky fingers and the chaos. I want the whole damn thing.”

She’s crying now. Quietly, heartbreakingly.

“I’m still scared,” she says.

“I am, too,” I tell her. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

She covers her mouth with one hand. Then lowers it. And I see it, the hope. The war still raging in her chest. But beneath it, something else.

Trust.

Slowly, she walks over to one of the cribs. Fingers brush the edge. Her breath hitches.

And then she turns.

Takes three steps toward me.

Her arms wrap around my waist like she never wants to let go again.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers into my chest.

I hold her tighter. “We’ll figure it out. If you stay…”

Her cheek is still damp against my chest. Her fingers fist gently in the fabric of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.

“I—” She gasps. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

Relief slams into me so hard it nearly brings me to my knees.

Everything inside me uncoils at once, the fear, the guilt, the ache I’ve been carrying since the day she walked away. It floods through me, this dizzying, breathless rush of hope. Like I’ve been drowning for weeks, and suddenly, I can breathe again.

She tilts her face up to mine, and the look in her eyes knocks the breath clean out of my lungs. It’s everything, fear and longing and stubborn, reckless hope. A thousand unspoken things burning behind those lashes.

And fuck, I’m done for.

I cup her face with both hands, my thumbs brushing her cheeks, and lean in so close I can taste her breath, cinnamon and something sharp beneath it, like tears and truth.

“I love you,” I whisper.

And then I kiss her.

Hard.

Deep.

Like I’ve been starved for her. Like the last few weeks were a slow, quiet death, and this is the only thing that’ll bring me back to life.

She gasps against my mouth, her body pressing flush to mine. My hands slide down, anchoring at her waist, then lower. Her fingers rake up into my hair, tugging, demanding more. Always more.

When her tongue brushes mine, I groan into her mouth and spin us until her back meets the nursery wall, the crib just inches away, the soft scent of baby powder and peach paint curling around us.

She’s trembling, but it’s not from fear.

It’s from everything we are. Everything we could be.

Her mouth is warm and urgent on mine, and when I pull her in tighter, I feel her entire body tremble against me.

I carry her from the nursery to my bedroom, her legs cinched around my waist, her fingers curled into the back of my neck like she can’t bear to let go. I don’t want her to. Not ever again.

When I lay her down on the bed, her eyes find mine, wet with unshed tears and something else too. Hunger. Hope. Home.

She reaches for the buttons of her blouse, but I stop her with a quiet “Let me.”

One by one, I undo them slowly, brushing my fingers across the soft skin of her chest as I go, pressing kisses in the places I reveal. Her breath hitches, chest rising to meet me, nipples tightening beneath the lace of her bra. She’s so damn beautiful it hurts.

I strip her gently, reverently, sliding her blouse off her shoulders, unhooking her bra, and letting it fall away.

She gasps when my mouth closes over one of her breasts, my tongue teasing slow circles around the sensitive peak while I cup the other in my hand, thumb flicking across it until she moans, low and breathy.

Her hands tug at my shirt, fumbling with the hem.

“Take it off,” she pants.

I do, yanking the shirt over my head with shaking hands, breath already coming too fast. My pulse is a thunderclap in my ears, my chest tight with the sheer weight of her, everything she is, everything we’ve come back from.

Then I help her out of her jeans, her panties, my fingers clumsy, reverent, like I’m undressing something sacred.

When she’s naked beneath me, I freeze, not out of hesitation, but awe. I just look at her.